


Help me help you

by Kinns



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Long-Distance Relationship, Love Triangles, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-09 14:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19477462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kinns/pseuds/Kinns
Summary: Currently, Antoine was at his side and he had to enjoy every minute he had to offer before returning to Erika.





	Help me help you

Being selected to the national team was the greatest honor a professional athlete could dream of. Representing his country was unequaled, winning for his nation was the greatest pride.

However, this tiny privilege wasn’t given to all. For many players, this was just an unreachable dream and for others a beautiful reality. 

It was like passing a continuous evaluation: if they were good enough and regular, they won their place in the national team. It was like waiting for the results for a big school that was being applied for: if they didn’t receive news a week before the coach's announcement at a press conference, it was because they were not taken. 

Antoine never discussed with his teammates to know who was caught. Certainly, they knew that some returned systematically, but there were good French players, the competition was tough, he knew that the slightest miss could cost him his place, so he tried to stay among the best. 

So until Didier Deschamps announces his selection for qualifying matches for Euro 2020, Antoine would not discuss the subject with anyone. He had answered in the affirmative to his summons, as always, without knowing who he would find at Clairefontaine. 

Did that worry him? No, not at all, he knew there would be no drastic change, maybe five players max. Antoine followed the results and performances of the last players summoned and estimated their presence or not at the rally. This reassured him very much in general. 

This observation capacity wasn’t only for him, quite the contrary: he used it to reassure the person for whom he was worried, Paul. His anxiety attacks didn’t happen often but were intense enough to make him lose his means. It was in his rare moments that Antoine took the lead and showed himself the strongest: Paul deserved to be fought for him when he was down on his knees. 

The regular season was finally over, place in the national season now. Although he had announced his departure from Atletico Madrid a few weeks earlier, Antoine wasn’t yet ready to leave the city; he wasn’t even sure of his destination anyway, why hurry?

Most of his belongings were tidy, waiting for his green light to be transported by movers. While he was getting ready, he was on the phone with Paul. Didier Deschamps was soon to announce his selected players and the stress of his love was rising. 

“You think there will be a lot of new ones?” 

Antoine shrugged, crunching in his apple.

“No, you know the coach, he is conservative.” 

Paul accepted his lie because he was in no condition to do otherwise. Antoine knew he should have taken the first flight to Manchester, but didn’t want to handle the situation sooner; Was he a horrible boyfriend for Paul? Without a doubt. He needed to be pretty ready before facing this ordeal. 

“Ha, Jesse offers to go for a ride in town with a few guys, as long as we're still here.”

Antoine understood immediately that Paul didn’t want to join them. He had already announced that he wanted to go to Real Madrid, some of his teammates have seen a bad eye since. 

“Who’s going?”

"No doubt Rome, Rashy, maybe Eric or Luke... Our little team to hang out, y’know.”

Antoine tensed immediately at Lukaku’s name. He didn’t like Paul's close acquaintance: the two best friends had known each other since they were seventeen, for almost ten years, and had already taken the leap of friendship during many drunken parties. He wasn’t jealous, but it bothered him that they were so close. In addition, Romelu had the advantage of Paul: they had met before him, had seen each other during their years in U18 and U20, played in the same club, and...

Antoine had to stop there, he felt his peak of jealousy soaring for nothing. 

“I was right, Rome, Rashy, Eric, Andreas, and Luke are coming. We're just going outside, do you mind?”

Antoine sat up with surprise, his eyes wide open: Paul never asked his opinion to do anything except when he was going to collapse. He had to be with him in his moments, shit. And he was going to join Lukaku in this emotional state? No fucking way. 

“No, but...” 

No, he couldn’t stop him from seeing his mates for a long time. Rashford wasn’t going to continue in Manchester after the 19/20 season, Lukaku forced to go to Milan, Pereira and Bailly finished their contracts the following year without giving any news now and Paul wanted to leave the club... Antoine couldn’t refuse him this possible last meeting.

“But?”

“But nothing, enjoy. Take a jacket, it's not hot enough up there.”

Paul snorted, while Antoine finally grabbed his gym bag and headed for the exit. It was time to go take his flight. 

“More like it's really hot at your place instead. I'm getting ready, one of the guys is going to get me on the way. Andre or Luke, I don’t know. I'll call you before I go.”

“Yeah, talk you later Piochi.”

“See you my Grizou.”

Paul hung up and Antoine couldn’t restrain his smile. He was crazy about this guy, he wanted to pick up the moon and serve him on a silver platter without question. He wanted so much to have known Paul earlier to give him everything, but now what could he give him?

With a sigh in love, he heard his daughter’s cry in the hallway. He turned around, caught her when she came to throw herself into his arms and kissed her adorable little head. He loved her so much...

A voice further echoed, and he saw Erika approaching, rummaging through her bag. She was stunning, unbelievably beautiful and generous, Antoine could almost fall in love with her again, but his heart no longer belonged to him. 

“Antoine, can you put his shoes on Mia? I get Amaro and we’ll drop you off.” 

Antoine frowned. “Will you?”

"Of course, what’s the point to have your wife do if she can’t do that?”

She raised a sparkling and sincere look towards him, before approaching and leaving the trace of her lips on his.

“I may not be the first in your heart, but you are, and I like to help you. Put her shoes on Mia, will you?”

Antoine snickered and obeyed anyway. Erika was right, she no longer had first place, but he loved her. He loved her as his best friend with whom he slept, as the mother of his children; she gave him everything that Paul couldn’t, and Paul gave him everything that Erika could never offer him.

When Antoine met Paul, she understood directly that she couldn’t win this battle, so she went on without thinking. He would remember all his life when he told her that he loved Paul and wanted to separate from her because he had too much respect for her to cheat on her. With an amused smile, she replied, "No, we won’t break up, that's what's going to happen: you will marry me, _as promised_ , you'll give me children, _as promised_ , and then you'll be able to love Paul as much as you want. Hey, it's me that you promised all that first, no... And then bring him home, I want to meet him before approving your relationship! ". Antoine had laughed and kissed her, then a month later he brought Paul home.

If Erika wasn’t so smiling, intelligent, loving, ready to sacrifice some of her happiness, their kind of three-way household would have never worked. Antoine would never be grateful enough to her.

It wasn’t the same love, but he loved her anyway.

“Go on princess, let’s put the shoes.”

Antoine put on his daughter, gave her water in that sweltering heat, and then smiled when she saw the angel that was Erika; he was so lucky and happy to have her.

“Say I am beautiful.”

“You’re going to break hearts, Eri.”

“As long as it's not yours, consider yourself happy.”

He burst out laughing. This woman was crazy.

The road to the airport was in laughter and tears, especially Amaro for the second part. This little one cried less often than Mia at her age, but with more intensity; Antoine didn’t know what was the worst.

Griezmann knew the airport by heart because of the fact that he went there to compete against other teams in Spain, even the noise of the largest airport in Spain didn’t bother him. For more security, he took Mia in his arms and left the stroller to Erika. She accompanied him as far as possible, her indifferent mask painted on her face; he hated this mask. 

He kissed her, put kisses on their children's faces, and then parted from them. He felt guilty of letting her fend for herself to bring back these little kids, but if he thought twice about it, she had promised to make him regret his words; so he abstained to avoid problems. 

Antoine followed all the procedures to get to his place on the plane, sad to part with his beloved family, but happy to meet Paul in Manchester. He was anxious to take him in his arms, to smell his musky odor, to hear his voice as a happy moron, to see him wiggle, to feel his callous hands on him. 

He wanted to kiss him. Antoine counted almost every minute that separated him from his love with unfeigned impatience. He listened to music, in the vain hope of making time go by faster, but that didn’t change anything: they had just taken off... 

It was so long, when was he going to see Paul? He put random music on his phone, the headphones firmly anchored on his ears, but it didn’t work: he was more passionate about the watch than the songs... No doubt a film would change his ideas, right? He grabbed his tablet without much conviction, eager to leave the plane.

Unsurprisingly, Antoine felt these three long hours as if eight had passed. He was quick to leave the plane, crossing the corridors as if pursued, eager to get closer to Paul; the more he knew he would see him in the minutes, the less he could keep calm. 

He looked at his phone: Paul tried to call him when he was on the plane and Antoine didn’t answer, he felt guilty. He decided to call him back when he was out of the airport to be quieter and relieved to have spent the boring part. 

About ten minutes later, Antoine was finally able to breathe fresh Manchester air, excited and almost hopping; it wasn’t really a twenty-eight-like behavior... He took the first taxi in the area that was intended for them and showed his address to the driver; his English wasn’t good enough for him to get out of it. 

Quick, quick... Only minutes before taking him in his arms... Antoine first sent a message to Erika to reassure them of his arrival, received a video call with the children who lasted about ten minutes. Finally, he called Paul, his body covered with shivers of impatience. 

“Grizou, how are you?” 

He heard a noise around him, no doubt he was still with his friends. 

“Yeah, I'm fine, sorry for just now, I went out with Eri and the kids. Am I bothering you?”

“No, never, never!”

He heard his smile from a distance, as if happy to finally hear him, the feeling was totally shared. 

“I am still with the guys, but they’ll soon drop me.”

“Ah, who’s there?”

Antoine wasn’t jealous, he just wanted to make the conversation.

“Eric and Andre, we dropped Luke five minutes ago. Jesse and Rashy take care of Rom. How are Erika and the little ones?” 

Paul had never said anything about his wife, respected her and loved her very much, he was always nice to her; even in private he never said a word misplaced about her. Antoine still couldn’t figure out what he thought of her but preferred not to ask the question for fear of the answer. 

“Well, she is recovering from childbirth step by step. We feel that Mia doesn’t really like not being the center of attention anymore, so we manage to occupy her when one is with Amaro. And the baby doesn’t cry so much so it's okay.”

“It's cool if he already sleeps at night.”

“That's not it... he's awake, but he doesn’t cry, you know?” 

Paul chuckled because the situation seemed strange even for him. Antoine went on to change the subject. “Say hello to your friends, yeah? I'm glad to know you're having fun.”

“Yeah, something like that... Guys, Grizou said hi.”

He heard two voices answer him, and he laughed in his turn; he was anxious to see his Piochi, his heart throbbed at the idea of taking him in his arms. 

Paul continued in English, but it was beyond Antoine's abilities. He thought he perceived laughter, jokes, then a door slammed shut; Paul must have arrived home! More than a dozen minutes in this damn taxi and he would be able to smother him in a huge hug, to put his skin against his, to have his heat under his fingers... 

The deliverance arrived soon. 

“That's it, I just got home, it was cool.”

“You're on your own?”

“Yeah... maybe I should have told Flo, Mat or Mom to spend a few days here... it's just that - whatever.”

“What?”

“No, don’t worry.” 

Antoine knew Pogba’s every armor, he knew that at that moment he wanted to say ' _I thought you were coming..._ ' but that he never dared not express his wish because of Erika. It was as if he refused to ask too much, he was content with the crumbs she left him, while Antony kept telling him that he always came first. 

He sighed, but said nothing, because he wanted to make him understand with this surprise that he didn’t forget him. 

“What did you guys do?”

"Nothing special, y’know. Just hang out in the city, eat something, cinema... Rom proposed to organize a party before the international break, I hesitate to go there.” 

Ah, the famous attack 'I hurt you because I'm hurt' he used to make him come quickly. Antoine wanted to get rid of the Belgian for good, keenly he goes to Milan and away from his Paul. 

“When do you go back to Paris?”

“I haven’t taken my ticket yet, but probably the day after tomorrow, nothing holds me back to Man...” 

He sighed without hiding his despair. Damn it, he really needed to be caught in Antoine's arms, keenly it happened. Antoine looked out the window and was surprised to recognize the landscape, he was so close now. 

“My Piochi, I recall you, okay?”

Once again Paul sighed, but Antoine quickly caught his urge to speak more without daring to ask. It broke his heart, but he wanted so much to surprise him... As he often did, he gave in. 

"Five more minutes, then I'll leave you, okay?”

"Yeah," he said, relieved. “Did you talk to Sam or Ousmane?”

“Yeah, it's hot... I'm a little lost for next year, but I still believe it. It just makes me very sorry to wait so long...”

“Don't worry love, everything will be fine.” 

He smiled affectionately because Paul was still comforting him, even though he clearly needed reassurance at that moment. He was so lucky to have met him and to be loved by him. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. 

He wanted the surprise to be perfect, the answer would help him better organize his arrival. 

“In my room, I'll go take a shower I think, or watch something, I dunno.”

“A movie?”

“I don’t want to think, a silly thing in French, it's perfect. Maybe a cartoon? It's accessible for a big twenty-six-year dude.”

Antoine chuckled, if Paul had said the opposite, it would have been worrying indeed. The car slowed down and he noticed that they had arrived in front of Paul's house.

“Wait a minute Piochi.”

He turned the microphone off so that Pogba couldn’t hear what was happening on his side. The driver told him the price, Antoine gave his card to pay for the service and left the taxi making sure he had taken everything with him. His keys in hand, he began to move towards the cave of wonders, ready to find his loved one.

“Piochi?”

He hoped he didn’t sound too excited, it would spoil the surprise otherwise... 

“Yeah? You have to go, that's it...?”

He had a twinge in his heart: Paul looked so sad and resigned that he moved away from him, despite _knowing_ that he always came first. Did he doubt Antoine so much?

“Yeah, I'm going home in two...”

“Here is also home, you know.”

“I know my Piochi.”

Paul was his home, his safe place wherever he went.

Antoine cut the mic, pressed the huge bell and smiled when he heard Paul groan.

“Oh no, a visitor... I have monstrous laziness... I'll act as if I ain’t here.”

Antoine burst out laughing as he pulled out his keys and opened the front door as silently as possible. 

“Ah, must be the package I sent you.”

“Are you serious?” Paul sighed, jaded.

“Yes, I went back there. See you soon, baby pick?” 

Paul giggled at the ridiculous nickname he used when he knew he was low. 

“Yeah, bye.”

Antoine hung up as he stepped into the living room and put his bag on the huge sofa, smiling. Should he wait for him or surprise him? He sat down on the couch near the wall so that Paul would not spot him directly when going down, and if he did, he would not complain. 

Unsurprisingly Paul paid no attention to where he was, focused on the door as he descended the stairs, dragging his feet, hands in his pockets, terribly silent. Paul Pogba, silent? Something was really bothering him. 

“Piochi?” 

Antoine straightened up, calling him worried by his unnatural state. Paul froze, took a few seconds to turn, and his face lit up when he saw who was standing in front of him. His facial expression wavered between joy, relief and disbelief, struggling to believe that Griezmann was really there. 

“Grizou...”

Antoine came to meet him, hungry for contact, happy to destroy the distance between them, impatient to finally touch him after the last few weeks without having the chance to put his hand on his delicious skin.

He put his arms around his neck and hugged him tightly against him, while Paul pressed his face against the hollow of his neck, his arms pressing his waist against him. He was so hot, his familiar smell brought tears to his eyes because he was _his home_.

It was so nice to finally be home.

"I'm home," he said, holding back a sob.

Paul nodded vigorously, shaking his head against his skin, unable to open his mouth, his throat probably knotted with emotion. His little Paul was finally with him, he was finally at his side to raise him and help him move forward.

Suddenly, he felt Paul's hands slip behind his thighs and felt himself being lifted as if he weighed nothing at all. He squeaked in surprise, before laughing, enchanted by the strength of the one he loved so much.

“My Piochi...”

His stomach quivering with impatience, he grabbed Paul's head and put a chaste kiss on his lips, savoring that contact that he had missed so much, filled with gentleness towards this wonderful man; he was everything Antoine dreamed of.

A few seconds later, he was carefully placed on the couch, still tight against Paul and spread his legs to give him all the space he needed. He was hot, but it had nothing to do with his outfit. Each kiss of Paul made him turn his head, fueled the fire inside him, sent dumps into every part of his body, which didn’t know how to get rid of all the energy accumulated in it.

Soon the kisses went down to his neck and he thought he was losing his mind because Paul knew his body too well. It was so good, so pleasant to be treated with care and affection, but Antoine knew it was a diversion; as much for him as for Paul. He hadn’t come to be comforted, but to help Paul for once...

But it was so good... The problems could wait, right?

 _No_ , his heart pounding for Paul answered.

“My baby pick...,” he moaned.

Paul straightened up immediately because of his nickname, the trouble illuminating his soft brown pupils, not knowing what behavior to adopt. Antoine smiled at him, caressed his cheek lovingly and slid his thumb on his lower lip with the same slowness.

Normally, it ignited the powders, but the next sentence gave rise to another feeling in Paul.

“My baby pick, are you ok?” Paul's eyes became moist and he forced himself to smile confidently, as his lips shook under the weight of his emotions.

“Of course I’m okay...”

“Baby, tell me.”

The smile faded but didn’t disappear, as tears slid down his delicate skin, betraying his true feelings. Antoine straightened to lean against the arm of the sofa behind his back and squeezed Paul against him, trying to give himself the imposing stature that Paul needed in those moments.

Paul Pogba didn’t crack, never. When he was insulted in Italy because of his color, Paul kept his head high. When his coach was leading him hard and rotting his name, Paul resisted. In front of fans dissatisfied with his performance, he didn’t lose his temper. If we tried to break him, Paul found the strength in him to go beyond.

But Piochi, his little Paul, allowed himself to cry for all his missed opportunities, for every hack made to him when he didn’t deserve them.

And Antoine was there to hold him back, support him and pick up the pieces patiently with him.

“Baby, talk to me...”

Paul clung to his shirt and Antoine's heart collapsed in his chest; he had to stay strong, not to crack with him.

Paul held back so long before exposing such feelings, that Antoine really believed he wasn’t crunching, that he was too strong for that, maybe too careless or innocent, but it wasn’t the case. As a result, the first time Paul had felt confident enough with him, had thought that Antoine was strong enough to keep him from sinking, he burst into tears in front of him and...

... and Antoine didn’t know how to give him the support he needed. He had fallen with him, panicking, crying, asking him what was wrong, unable to concentrate or finding the right words. Paul then fled and ignored him until the next day, simply claiming fatigue to justify himself. Their relationship had deteriorated and had declined after this incident.

Antoine never felt ready or strong enough for Paul's crises since then and was still unaware of how to make things go smoothly, so he fled as long as he could when he knew the crisis was near. Although he wanted to cry, he stopped himself, he couldn’t bear to see Paul close to him and prefer to cash all alone, while there _were two_ now.

“Baby Piochi, tell me everything...”

He laid a kiss on his forehead, the top of his skull, while a hand rubbed his back to comfort him, to transmit his warmth and presence. He hoped every time that would be enough because he didn’t know how he would react the day that would not.

To his great relief, Paul looked up wet, then unpacked everything he had on his heart.

The lack of participation in the Champions League because of the catastrophic start of the season, the unpleasant atmosphere in the locker room, the press that was on his back with each failure, his desire to leave the club, his desire to be closer to him, his inability to be able to carry his entire team when he should be able, his feeling of being prisoner of his contract and Manchester United, his need for recognition within club and supporters, he wanted to be a legend but this wasn’t enough.

Paul wasn’t a forward, his role wasn’t to score goals, it was to help the forwards to do it, to get the ball ahead, to advance and to put the attackers in value. How could anyone blame him for doing his job and no more? He hadn’t asked to leave Juventus, nor to cost so much, it had just happened.

He didn’t ask to be world champion, it also happened thanks to the whole team. How could anyone blame him for not having the same club skills as in the national team? People were not the same, it wasn’t comparable. In the French National Team, they could beat people he never thought; Messi, Cavani, Di Maria, Hazard among many others.

He wanted something else, something new, to be surrounded by people who would support him whatever happens, not betray him under the coach's orders.

After that, Paul remained silent, tears still beading in his eyes, which Antoine applied to wipe each time. He didn’t say anything either, because he knew it wasn’t necessary, it could even embarrass Paul when he wasn’t going at his own pace, so he just listened.

“Who will be with us at Clairefontaine? I hate to hide us...”

Once again, Paul opened without being asked. He didn’t like having to hide his affection for Antoine or wait for the others to get used to their proximity to be reassured. He wanted to take them overflowing with affection for each other, without the others looking at them badly. Paul's biggest concern at the time was that the summoned players were too closed-minded or stupid. He didn’t want to have to wait for the night, hidden from everyone to take his hand in his or give him a hug.

Certainly, the players summoned the previous time were not aware, but they all knew that there was something between them. Many protected them from the outside world and idiots, but that wasn’t always enough.

Antoine didn’t want to worry Paul on the phone, but he already knew that the next team would be very different from a year ago. He should be preparing for the worst possible reaction from Paul. Please, he didn’t want to pick up all his little pieces.

“For the goalkeepers,” he began, “I don’t think Steve stays with us...” Paul nodded softly, waiting for the rest with apprehension. “For the defenders, Kim wasn’t up to par in his last games and I doubt that the coach forgave Lucas for having declined the last time... Djibril, Adil, and Layvin haven’t been very good recently, forget them.” Paul blamed and swallowed slowly. Antoine knew he was getting along well with Layvin, but never understood how it had happened. “For the midfielders, I doubt that Dimitri, Coco, and Steven come back. For the forwards, I don’t know...”

Paul inhaled to calm the pain that was growing in his heart, suffering for his brothers who were not coming back, as they understood his relationship with Griezmann and didn’t really judge him.

For a moment, they just listened to each other breathing, pasting their breath on each other. Antoine had his head leaning against the armrest, eyes now closed, Paul playing with the pant of his jacket, lying against his chest, sometimes reacting to the caresses of Antoine on his neck.

They were really good, Antoine felt almost like Paul's home for once. 

“What are you going to do next year?” 

Antoine didn’t really expect this question, but closed eyelids; he was there for Paul, not the other way around. 

“Barça if everything is fine. Well, if everything goes _better_.” 

Paul moved against him, resting his chin on his chest and Antoine opened his eyes, under his lover’s scrutinizing and almost supplicating gaze. He didn’t like the direction of the conversation _at all_ , _not at all._

“And... if... it's just a guess, huh. But if not, would you come here to Manchester?”

_With me?_

Antoine felt trapped under the look full of expectation and hope, he felt like choking under his big brown eyes. Pogba would never have begged him that way because he knew the answer would never be pleasant or satisfying, while his baby Piochi allowed himself to be asked to choose between him and his career, as if he were trying to be hurt.

Going to Manchester or leaving La Liga had never been part of Antoine's plans.

"Or you could go to the Real," he countered.

Paul bit his lip, looked away, holding back his tears, before smiling sadly.

“I can’t, they won’t let me go so easily... But we need a pair of forwards. It would be so good if you and Dybi could join me next season, it would be a daydream.”

Antoine frowned. What was Dybala doing here?

“Paul, you’re not qualified for the UCL, why do you want to stay?”

“It was the same when I came back in 2016 and we won the Europa League...,” he defended himself pitifully.

Antoine sighed, already annoyed by this behavior: he couldn’t bear to see Paul with so little ambition; he had to aim for the Champions League, aiming much higher than his current state allowed him.

“Who prefers the Europa league to the UCL, Paul?”

This time Paul seemed to understand his feelings and began to slowly close himself; everything he didn’t want. Antoine was quick: he grabbed his face in his hands and bent down to kiss him by force. There is no question that they are returning to that disastrous moment when Paul didn’t have enough confidence in him, it was more painful than seeing him crumble in his arms.

“You can do better, _you're better_ than what you think, Piochi, don’t forget it.”

Paul searched his blue irises to find a trace of lies, but he didn’t, because Griezmann told him the truth. Paul was worth it and could do better.

He didn’t know what would happen in Clairefontaine, had no idea of the club in which he would be in September, but it was the worries of another day. Currently, Antoine was at his side and he had to enjoy every minute he had to offer before returning to Erika.

Antoine was with him when he was at the bottom and he didn’t want to think of anything else for the moment.


End file.
